Wake from your sleep, sweet Christians, now, and listen.

A little song

We have, so sweet it like a star doth glisten,

And dance along.

Now wake and hark: all brightly it is glowing

With yule flames merry,

And o'er it many a holly sprig is growing;

And scarlet berry.

A bough of evergreen, with wax-lights gleaming,

It bravely graces;

And o'er its lines the star that's eastward beaming

Leaves golden traces.

Also, our little song; it sweetly praiseth,

Like birds in flocks

When morning from her bed of roses raiseth

Her golden locks.

But this it is that makes most sweet our story,

When all is said:

It holds a little Child with rays of glory

Around His head.

—M. E. W.